


Battles and Wars, Scars and Loss

by Verasteine



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-12
Updated: 2008-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verasteine/pseuds/Verasteine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With what Ianto's been through in life, it should be no surprise he suffers from nightmares. A look at Ianto's struggle to cope with his demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Army of Ghosts"

**Author's Note:**

> I differ only eleven days with Ianto, according to his date of birth mentioned in ‘Fragments’. Now I’m an insomniac with an anxiety disorder and only one surviving parent, so I think I’ve seen my fair share of life. Still, I can’t imagine going through what Ianto went through, as young as he is. That inspired me to write a story in which Ianto suffers from nightmares, which is this. The title of each chapter is the particular episode behind the dream, which, because they are dreams, may otherwise not always be clear.  
> A thank you to Loki, my faithful beta and sounding board. Enjoy!
> 
> Title and lyrics at the top by Dido, from her song, "This Land Is Mine".

> _after all the battles and wars, the scars and loss  
> I am still the queen of my domain  
> and feeling stronger now  
> the walls are down a little more each day, since you came  
> finally, finally things are changing  
> _

He hit the ground running at the familiar sound of stomping boots, running through the bowels of the hub without even looking over his shoulder, because he knew what that sound meant. He knew what it meant because he heard it still, in his nightmares, in the times between waking and sleeping when he wasn't sure where he was, and in his memories, whenever he let his guard down in a thoughtless moment. He was ducking around corners, trying to find a place to hide, and nothing seemed to be the way he remembered it. He tried to remember who else was in the hub, but failed, and then he tried to remember where Jack was. Jack couldn't die, normally there would be no threat, but this was different, this could kill anyone. He'd seen it with his own eyes.

He couldn't remember where Jack was, and for the moment it wasn't relevant, because he needed to save himself first. The sound of boots stomping on the concrete of the hub floor became increasingly louder and he knew there were close, he knew they were going to find him.

They came around the corner, light gleaning off them, advancing in a row of three, so many he couldn't count. They were heading straight for him, he had to keep running, but there was nowhere to go. He could keep running forever and ever, and there would be still nowhere to go. He heard them advance, watched them advance, and slid down the wall, curling into a ball on the floor, until they stood in front of him, and the stomping of their boots ceased. As if one, they looked down on him.

"Jones."

\--

"Jones," Owen said, shaking him awake.

Ianto started, gasping for breath, fending off the hand on his shoulder with an uncharacteristically aggressive swipe. He felt the familiar nausea rise up in his throat, the pounding of his head that always followed this particular dream, and automatically sat up, putting his head between his knees. Owen's hand landed in his neck, keeping his head pushed down, the professional in him taking over.

"You okay?" he said, no trace of mockery in his voice.

"Give me a minute," Ianto replied, meaning it.

Owen's hand disappeared. "Okay," he said, adding, "if you're sure."

Ianto carefully lifted his head and looked back at the doctor. "I'm fine, Owen."

"Yeah," Owen replied, sounding exasperated, and got up and moved off.

"What was that all about?"

Jack's voice startled Ianto, unawares until that moment that Jack was even in the room. He looked around and located Jack at the foot of the stairs, moving toward him.

"It's nothing," he replied, getting up off the sofa and promptly belying his own confidence by wavering slightly.

Jack quickened his pace and reached him, taking hold of his arm to steady him and settling him back on the sofa. "You don't look fine to me."

"I _am_ fine," Ianto said with a little more insistence. "I just got up too quickly."

"Yeah, right," Jack shot back. "Say that again and you might make me believe it."

Ianto shrugged, not caring to continue this discussion. "I'll be fine in a minute"

"What did you dream about?"

Ianto looked away on purpose, not wanting to burden Jack with what had been in his head. "It's nothing."

"Say that again and I'll make you regret it," Jack retorted.

For once, Ianto took a leaf from Jack's book, and said, with a hint of suggestion, "What did you have in mind?"

Jack looked startled, almost confused, for a moment. Then he replied smoothly, "Wouldn't you like to know. But you're not getting off that easily."

"It's --"

"Nothing, yeah, I know," Jack said sarcastically.

Ianto smiled, slightly abashed. "Okay, not nothing, but not important."

"So how come you don't wake up like that in my bed?" Jack said, all hints of sarcasm gone from his voice.

Ianto looked at the floor, this time with some embarrassment. "It's different."

"Different how?"

"It's different when I'm with you," he said in a low voice., not really wanting to have this conversation. "You --"

"I what?" Jack pressed, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Ianto looked at him sideways. "I don't know," he replied, "I just don't have as many nightmares when I'm with you."

Jack smiled, a brief, smug smile, and said, all serious again, "I'm glad."

Ianto shrugged. "Yes, me too."

Jack suddenly grinned, relieved now the mystery was over and they could get back to where they'd been before. "You know if it helps you that much to be with me, you should stay here more often."

Ianto shook his head, mystified at how quickly Jack had made the leap from serious to innuendo. He really should know better, knowing the captain as he did. "Only you," he said, "only you could take a nightmare and turn it around like that."


	2. "End of Days"

He woke up, and he was alone.

It was dark, and he was alone.

It was late at night, and he was alone.

He pushed the duvet off his body and rolled onto his side, sitting up in the dark, lonely room. It was cold, and he shivered. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, standing still for a moment to adjust his body to a vertical position after so long in a horizontal one. He walked, on touch and memory, around the bed toward the door. He opened the door, and stepped into the hallway, turning left towards the living room. He followed the corridor and arrived in the living room, which was empty.

He was alone.

It made sense to be alone, because this was his flat, and Jack had never been there. It made sense, also, to head towards the kitchen, to look there, even though Jack couldn't be there, because this was his flat, and he was alone. He went on and checked every room in the house, and every room was empty.

Because he was alone.

He opened the front door, went out into the street, and there was no one there. He walked down the street, he ran, until he reached the Plass, and there, too, there was no one. It was light now, but there was no one there, not even the seagulls that normally swarmed across the bay. He was alone, even when he unlocked the tourist office door and went inside. He was alone, when he went into the hub, because even Myfanwy wasn't there, inexplicably gone from her perch high up near the ceiling. He went up to Jack's office, but he knew Jack wouldn't be there. He went down to the autopsy bay, but Owen wasn't there either. He went to the archives, but no one came there except him, so there was no there, too. Then at last, desperate for any company, he went to the cells. And there was no one there, too, because he was alone. There was no one there, except in the last cell. He looked inside, and there was a lone figure there, sitting on the floor, huddled against the back wall, face turned away in the faint light, staring at a spot on the floor.

He recognized that coat. He recognized that tie. He recognized that shirt. The shoes. The belt. He recognized it, because he recognized himself.

\--

His throat was raw, when he woke up, startled, almost bewildered, fighting the blankets. Abruptly, he realised he was screaming, sobbing, and closed his mouth, pressing his fist to it to stop the sound from escaping. After a moment, when he was sure it was safe, he took a few deep breaths, steadying himself and untangling his legs from the blankets. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, when he heard a noise above.

Jack slid down the ladder at double speed, a frightened, startled look in his eyes that he turned on Ianto, something frantic sparking behind his blue gaze. "Ianto! What's wrong?"

Ianto leaned his elbows on his knees, settling his head on his hands, and looked at Jack. "I'm all right," he said quickly, trying to reassure Jack. "Really, it was just a dream."

Jack knelt before him, putting a hand on his shoulder, fixing him with an intense look. "Are you sure? I heard you, from the hub."

"Bad dream, is all, " Ianto said, willing his voice not shake, taking comfort from the hand on his shoulder, not wanting to ask for more.

"You want to talk about it?" Jack said, concern colouring his voice.

Ianto shrugged. "I dreamt I was alone." He took a deep breath, willing the emotions that had been so overwhelming in the dream not to overwhelm him again. "There was no one in the city, in the hub, anywhere. Except me - in the cells. I saw myself…"

Jack's hand squeezed his shoulder, giving him some much-needed support. He came out of his crouching position and sat down next to Ianto on the bed, the hand sliding across his shoulders, Jack's arm pulling him closer. Ianto leaned into the contact gratefully.

"Jack," he said, not wanting to reveal how much the dream had rattled him, "I'm okay, really."

"I know," Jack replied, his voice reassuring. "Just relax."

Ianto did as he was told, letting Jack's presence soothe his jumbled emotions, closing his eyes. He felt Jack press a kiss in his hair and squirmed. Jack’s amused chuckle followed him from wakefulness back into a dreamless sleep.


	3. "Countrycide"

It hurt. It hurt, like the time, when he was 15, and his best mate got his learners permit and crashed the car with him in it, cracking two of his ribs. It hurt like that. Half his body felt like it was on fire, the other half like it was submerged in an ice bath, the two sides of him divided in an equal agony.

He wanted to run, wanted to scream, wanted to do anything that would express the anguish he could feel, the sensation of his skin being close to bursting with the throbbing of his pain receptors. But he couldn't move, he was suspended in midair, not hurtling towards the earth, not moving away from it. He knew there was something he had to do, something more, that there was something more important than just him. He was Torchwood, there was always something he had to do.

He couldn't remember what it was he had to do, couldn't remember how he ended up here, how he ended up with his body in such agony that breathing was literal torture. Something was drifting at the edge of his vision, something he had to get to, and he tried to move again, feeling the agony of the attempt course through his body, without being able to scream to express it. He thought he felt tears on his face, but couldn't bring his hand up to check. And knew, with abrupt, searing clarity, that he was dying. Going to die.

The pain could only mean one thing, his inability to move, the difficulty he had breathing, the tears that he thought he was crying, but could not feel... The only explanation was that he was dying, his body shutting down one function at the time, creating a sensation of being left in limbo, floating in space, neither moving nor stopping. He was dying. Dying, without the chance to say goodbye to the people he loved.

\--

He didn't start awake, but just was awake, from one moment to the next his eyes were open, and he blinked into the darkness of his bedroom, and realised he could move. Realised he felt no more pain. It had all been a dream, a memory, a nightmare. For a moment he didn't move other than wriggling his toes, and moving his fingers to ensure that really, he could move again. He just lay still in his bed, listening to the sound of his own harsh breathing, listening to the stillness, the silence that was Cardiff late at night. Abruptly, the nausea hit, and he rolled out of bed, tangling his legs in the duvet and falling on the floor, picking himself up as quickly as he could, and racing to the bathroom just in time before losing what was left of his dinner.

He rinsed his mouth out, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, drank some more water, and sat down on the cold floor. The bathroom light, which he’d turned on automatically, was illuminating the room harshly, and he listened to the sound of his own breathing for a while before the silence became too oppressive. He clambered up off the floor and went back into the bedroom, turning on the light there as well to create the illusion of safety that he did not feel. He looked at his bed, sheets rumpled, empty. For one desperate second, he wished there was someone else in it. But Jack had never, ever been to his flat.

He left the room, and that painful fact, behind, turning on every light in the flat as he went along. He turned on his television, creating more illusions of safety by the sound of the BBC News running in the background, and went to make coffee, because he knew that he would not sleep again tonight. He took his coffee and a comforting blanket to the sofa, settling down on it, rolling into a ball and wrapping his hands around the mug for warmth. The newscaster was droning on about something to do with politics or another that he'd failed to follow in the previous days and was now absolutely oblivious about. He drank his coffee slowly, and his eyes strayed to the clock. It was 3.24 in the morning.

He knew what he wanted. He knew what he'd do if he were at the hub. Turn over, into Jack's embrace, or, if like so many times, Jack had left the bed for being unable to sleep, or unwilling, he could go find him and they would sit together, and talk, or have coffee. But he wasn't at the hub. His eyes strayed to the phone. One call, and he knew Jack would come. But it would change things, change things between them, and not for the better, and Ianto had always sworn he wouldn't ask for anything. He knew Jack couldn't give more than he was giving already.

He could go to the hub. But like that phone call, it would change things, it would expose him, and although he trusted Jack, something made him reticent, unwilling to expose that need in himself. So he stayed where he was, watching the news on repeat over and over again, until he could recite every word of it from memory. He drank his coffee, and another one, and another one, watching the minutes on the clock tick by, watching the dawn lighten on the horizon until it was light.

It was 5.37 in the morning. He could put it off no longer, wanted to put it off no longer, and it was reasonable enough, not too early to stand out. He unwrapped himself from the comforter and got up to turn off all the lights in the flat he'd left on, picked out a suit to wear, and went to the bathroom, not taking too long in the shower because really, there was only one place he wanted to be. It was 6.27 when he arrived at the hub. Jack was in his office, dressed but not fully, braces dangling at his waist, shirt unbuttoned. He came to the stairs when he heard the alarm go off, and smiled with surprise when he spotted Ianto, before calling out a cheerful, "Good morning!"

Ianto replied with a small smile, moving off to the coffeemaker and setting it running. Jack lightly bounded down the stairs, coming over to him and laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're in early."

Ianto shrugged, keeping his eyes on the coffeemaker so as to avoid Jack's blue gaze. "Couldn't sleep."

The coffeemaker hissed and spluttered, pouring the coffee into Jack's mug which Ianto had put down under it. Jack snatched it up as soon as it was done, barely waiting for the final drips. "Well, lucky for me," he said, taking a sip.

Ianto smiled, feeling the exhaustion of a semi-sleepless night tugging on his mind. "Yep."

Having practically inhaled half his coffee in one go, Jack looked quizzically at him over the rim of his mug., his blue eyes scrutinising Ianto's face. "Everything _is _okay, Ianto?"

"I'm okay," Ianto replied, meaning it, thinking, _now_. "Really, I am."

"Okay," Jack said happily, apparently satisfied with this answer. He ghosted his fingers over Ianto's cheekbone, running them into Ianto's hair. "In that case, I'm glad you're here."


	4. "Fragments"

He was walking. He was walking, and there was no end in sight. He had nowhere to go, and everywhere to go. It was cold, the bitter cold of winter, and the cold had long since seeped through his coat and it was getting to the point where he was sure he'd never be warm again. And yet he kept on walking.

He kept walking, even when it began to rain. Not only cold, he was now also wet, but it didn't matter, because he had nowhere to go, and everywhere to go. The streets changed, no longer the familiarity of his neighbourhood, or downtown Cardiff, sliding away into unknown streets and houses, and darkness. His legs began to hurt, but he kept on walking. He had to keep going, had to keep walking, because he couldn't go back.

He couldn't go back.

He couldn't go back, but there he was, back before the familiar blue-painted front door of his family home. He went in without thinking, through the small hallway, into the small living room, where his father sat. He sat in the corner chair he always sat in, cigar by his right hand, paper by his left. He looked up when Ianto entered.

"There you are, son," he said.

"Yes, dad," Ianto replied.

"You disappoint me, son," his father said, reaching for the paper on his left hand side. He opened it up to read it, and it seemed larger than it always was, it was so large that it obscured him, and when Ianto reached out to pull it away, he got tangled in it, and he couldn't find his way through. He tried to tear the paper, but no matter how many layers he tore, there always seemed to be more. Newsprint smudged his fingers, and the paper seemed to wrap around him. He struggled to find his way out, struggled to find a way, hearing, somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, a voice calling his name. The voice seemed important, he focused on it, anchored to it, and finally clawed up to the surface.

\--

Jack's hand was on his forehead when he opened his eyes, smoothing back his hair, and Jack was softly calling his name.

Ianto blinked a few times, coming to full wakefulness, and said, "Jack?"

"Hey," Jack replied, his hand stilling, fingers still playing with Ianto’s hair.

Ianto pushed off, propping himself up on his elbows, "I..." His voice faltered, and he tried to shake the emotions the dream had evoked.

Jack was looking at him with an unreadable look in his blue eyes, and he said, his voice low, "You were speaking Welsh, in your sleep."

Ianto brought a hand to his cheek, his fingers coming up wet. "I... " he tried again, feeling embarrassed by how affected he was, his voice still unsteady.

Jack placed his free hand on Ianto's chest, and said, "Take your time."

"I dreamt about my father," Ianto said a moment later, shifting slightly, edging marginally closer to Jack. "I dreamt I was 16, and I tried to run away." He ran a hand over his face, scrubbing away the tears. "We'd had a fight, about my wanting to leave school, and about my getting arrested. It was stupid, but... he called me a disappointment." That memory was still vivid, the blow between the eyes it had been at the time. He tried to shake it off, tried to draw strength from somewhere within.

"People say things in anger," Jack said comfortingly.

Ianto shook his head. "I know that," he replied, his voice stronger. "I didn't know it then."

"What happened?"

Ianto made a face at the memory. "I ran away. The police picked me up at four in the morning, and took me home again."

Jack laughed softly, and Ianto found the strength to glare a little at him, which only seemed to amuse Jack more. Ianto lay back down in the pillows, Jack settling next to him, his fingers running idly over Ianto's chest. "Go back to sleep, Ianto."

Ianto obeyed and closed his eyes.


	5. "The Last of the Time Lords"

It pulled him from a deep sleep, for once not plagued by the dreams that so often disturbed it. He swam up to the surface, knowing something was wrong. He opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness in Jack's bunker, and waited to find what had woken him. Jack was shifting around, as if uncomfortable, but just as Ianto opened his mouth to complain about it, he heard Jack make small sounds in his sleep. He rolled onto his side to discover that, in fact, Jack's eyes were closed, and he looked very much deep asleep. Deep asleep, and in the throes of a nightmare.

Sweat was dotting his brow, his arms wrapped around himself, his body stiff. As Ianto looked on, Jack's mouth was forming words, not always in a language he could understand.

"Please --"

Ianto had never heard that tone to Jack's voice, an utter desperation, pleading. His heart went out to Jack, and he reached out tentatively, brushing his fingers over Jack's cheek in a soothing gesture. His hand came up wet with tears Jack was shedding in his sleep, and Ianto found himself making small soothing noises. "Ssh," he soothed, "Jack, it's okay."

His attempt at calming Jack didn't seem to have any effect. He remained tense, almost rigid, a frown not leaving his face, the tears still flowing. "Not again…" he murmured anxiously.

Ianto tried another tack, and said forcefully, "Jack. Wake up."

No response.

"Jack." Ianto tried again. Raising his voice, "wake up."

Jack started awake, gasping for breath as if he'd just died, and Ianto watched as he became aware of his surroundings. He took a few deep breaths, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe away the tears that had glued the lids together. "Ianto?" he said softly.

"I'm here," Ianto replied in the dark.

Jack rubbed his wrists carefully as if nursing an old injury. Abruptly, he said commandingly, "Come here."

It wasn't comfort Jack wanted, Ianto could tell from his voice. Or maybe it was, comfort Jack Harkness style. Jack pulled him closer, without much gentleness, crushing them together, and kissed him fiercely. Ianto could still feel Jack's body tremble with the remnants of emotion the dream had left behind. He kissed back, Jack responding hungrily. After a moment, Jack rolled on top of him, crushing him between his body and the mattress. When he didn't let up after a minute, Ianto began to struggle for breath. At last, he lay his hands flat against Jack's chest and pushed, dislodging him. "Jack, _stop_."

Jack looked confused, the rejection sank in, and he rolled away, sitting up. "Sorry."

Ianto could feel the walls slam into place, the things that always stood between them, the separation that divided them that was more than just thirty centuries. Jack was shutting himself off emotionally, giving only what he deemed he could afford to give, no matter how many times Ianto tried to show him he could be trusted. "Jack."

Jack didn't respond, not to the unspoken plea in Ianto’s voice, saying instead, "It's fine, Ianto."

Ianto made a decision, rolling out of bed and reaching for his clothes. Decency demanded that he put something on, and he opted for boxers and his dress shirt. When he pulled them on, he caught the look on Jack's face, and said to reassure him, "Stay here. I'll be right back."

He didn't miss the measure of relief that dawned in Jack's eyes, before climbing up the ladder out of the room.

\--

When he returned with two mugs of steaming coffee, Jack seemed to have recovered his equilibrium somewhat. He smiled gratefully at the sight of the blue-and-white mug, and wrapped his hands around it as if to warm them. Ianto sat down on the bed as well, settling his back against the wall, and slowly sipping his coffee. They were both silent for a few minutes.

Jack broke it, saying, "I _am_ sorry, Ianto."

Ianto looked back at him. "Don't apologise, Jack. There's no need."

Again, Jack looked slightly relieved.

Ianto said neutrally, "How bad was it, Jack? Wherever you went, while you were away."

Jack looked startled, saying, "How do you know?"

Ianto shrugged. "I've seen you sleep before, though I admit it's rare. You've never had a nightmare quite like that."

"You do," Jack replied.

"Don't change the subject, Jack. I take responsibility for my demons," Ianto reminded him.

A shadow crossed Jack's face. "I take responsibility, too, Ianto."

Ianto took another sip of his coffee. "I wasn't implying that you weren't, Jack."

"I know," Jack admitted, adding, "it doesn't matter, none of it matters now."

Ianto frowned in confusion. "It obviously matters to you."

Jack looked sideways at him. "You don't want to know," he said, and as he said it, it didn’t sound like a platitude. "Some things are too much to share."

"A burden shared is a burden halved, Jack. That's not just an expression."

Jack said nothing for a moment, then said abruptly, "I can't die."

Ianto almost nodded, and stopped himself.

"Someone, it’s not important who, found that out," Jack continued. "And decided to make use of it."

Ianto stared, then realised he was staring, and looked away. "What does that mean, Jack?"

Jack finished his coffee, carefully putting the mug down on the table next to the bed. "It means I got to find out just how many ways there are for me to die."

Ianto let that sink in, and then simply didn't know what to say or do. "Jack --"

Jack sent him a reassuring smile, reaching out and laying a hand on Ianto's shoulder. "I'm still here, Ianto."

"Yes," Ianto said automatically. "Jack, how do you --?"

"You move on," Jack said insistently. "You try not to look back."

Ianto held his eyes, and then did the only thing he knew to do. He put his mug on the floor, and turned back to Jack, reaching out, sliding a hand into Jack's neck and pulling him in for a deep kiss. Jack responded eagerly, deepening the kiss, sliding back down on the bed and pulling Ianto with him. When they came up for air, he murmured against Ianto's mouth, "This helps..."


	6. "Adam"

He had his hands around her throat, squeezing. Her eyes were bulging large in her face, her glasses had slipped off her nose, and were being crushed somewhere between their bodies. She was trying to make a sound, trying to gasp for breath, trying to scream, but nothing worked. Nothing would work. He knew nothing would work, because this wasn't the first time he'd ever done this. He was squeezing the life out of her, and she was going to die.

Tosh's fingers were digging uselessly into his arms, one last effort to dislodge him, and then she went slack, but his experience told him to keep squeezing the air out of her throat, until he was absolutely sure she was dead. Only then did he let go, let her body slide down the wall as he came down with her, until he was crouching by her dead body on the cold concrete hub floor, watching her face contorted in death.

He became aware of a sound behind him, a loud noise, a ringing in his ears. He got up from the floor, turning around, to be confronted with Gwen screaming at him, her hands making useless gestures, her eyes judging him. He couldn't make out the words, all the words seemed to run together, but he understood the tone, and the meaning of the motions of her hands. She was disgusted by what he'd done, and somewhere deep inside, so was he, but there was no way to tell her that, no way to understand why this felt so wrong and so right at the same time. Jack would know, but he couldn't find Jack, didn't know where Jack was, and wasn't sure, in the same confusing way, if he wanted to see Jack right now. Gwen was crying, and when he took a step toward her, she backed up. He took another step toward her, and she backed up a step further, until she was standing against one of the desks in the hub. Her eyes were large in her face, and he was thinking they'd be larger if he could wrap his hands around her throat too, and kill her.

Gwen was shaking her head at him, her face still a mask of disgust, but he didn't care. And yet somewhere deep inside, he did care. Somewhere deep inside, he wanted to ask for her help. He wanted to tell her he didn't mean to kill Tosh, even though he had, just like he wanted to kill Gwen. None of it made any sense. But when he tried to get closer to Gwen, to be able to talk to her, to break through the litany of words she was streaming at him, she backed up further, constantly moving away from him until he could no longer find her.

And then Jack was there, asking him, "Why, why, why" until the words kept echoing in Ianto's brain and he couldn't stop them. And Jack too, was shaking his head constantly as if to tell Ianto it was too much, he couldn't help him, he couldn't fix what had gone wrong. And Ianto wanted to tell him, that he hadn't meant to kill Tosh, even though he had, and that it felt wrong, even though it felt right. But he couldn't speak, couldn't explain, and Jack kept asking why, and Ianto had no answers.

Then he didn't need to find answers any more, because Owen was there, and pointing a gun in his face. Owen was saying, "You killed Tosh," and levelled the gun with Ianto's face, and Ianto knew Owen was going to shoot him, and knew he deserved it, because it felt wrong, but it felt right.

And then Owen pulled the trigger.

\--

He started awake, breathing hard. He sat up in bed, knowing without checking that Jack wasn't with him. As was his habit, he put on some clothes before climbing up the ladder into the hub. He expected to find Jack in his office, but the room was quiet, lights off. Ianto went into the hub proper, descending down the stairs, expecting Jack to pop up from one room or another, or from behind a station or desk. However, Jack was nowhere in sight. At last, Ianto went to one of the stations, and checked the CCTV logs, to discover to his surprise that Jack had left an hour ago, without so much as leaving a note.

It wasn't every day you dreamt about killing a friend and co-worker, but that wasn't what had unsettled him. It was the chilling reality of it feeling right, usual, as if it was something he'd done before, when he was absolutely sure he never had. Yet somehow... somehow it was like a distant memory was ringing, a sense of déjà-vu, something he was supposed to remember. And it didn't sit well with him that in a few hours he would be looking Tosh in the face, seeing those glasses balanced on her nose that had been so vividly crushed in the dream, her beautiful eyes suddenly full of life again. He tried to shake the eerie feeling the dream had left, but without a distraction, _any_ distraction, it was difficult to rid himself of the remnants.

He went looking for something to do, even though it was four o'clock in the morning, and he ended up doing what he never got a chance to do during the day, taking apart the coffee machine. He busied himself with meticulously unscrewing and rinsing all the parts, which always took longer than the space he got during the day between Jack's insistent demands for coffee. He carefully laid out the parts on the kitchen counter, oiling the ones that need oiling, and keeping the oil from making contact at all with the parts coffee would flow through in the machine, and carefully rinsing, first with soap, then three times with clear water, the other parts. He cleaned out little bits of grounds that had been left behind during the use of the machine, and was in the process of reassembling the construction when the door alarm sounded.

Jack bounded in, coat trailing behind him, a small smile permanently fixed to his face that signalled a successful -- whatever it was that he'd been doing. He pulled up short when he spotted Ianto up and about, changed course and headed for him.

"Ianto! I could murder a -- oh." At the sight of the coffee machine in shambles, Jack's face fell.

Ianto winced at Jack's choice of words, the part of the coffee machine assembly he'd been holding slipping from his fingers and falling on the table with a clattering sound. Jack started, frowned, and seemed to take a proper look at Ianto for the first time since he'd come in. "Hey, you all right?"

Ianto nodded. "I'm fine," he replied. "Just -- bad dream. I have a lot of those."

Jack nodded back slowly, putting a hand on Ianto's right shoulder, his thumb rubbing across his collarbone. "I know. I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"You're here now," Ianto replied, and that was enough. Jack's presence always made things easier, easier to bear, easier to see the light on the other side. He glanced at the coffee machine, still half assembled. "I had better finish this, or you're going to have a _bad_ day."

Jack smiled. "I admit to a certain fondness for your coffee."

Ianto smiled back briefly, returning his attention to reassembling the coffee machine. Jack leaned against a nearby desk, watching him, seeming to have no problem with the fact that Ianto was performing this mundane task at four in the morning. After half a minute, he said, his voice neutral, "So what did you dream about?"

Ianto glanced over his shoulder, before returning his attention to a niggly little pipe that wouldn't fit properly. "It was strange," he replied. "I was myself, although I had memories that were not mine. At least -- I know them to be not mine, but they felt like they were. They weren't good memories, they made me -- they made me kill Tosh." The little metal pipe clicked into place loudly in the silence that fell between them at his words. He looked back at Jack, wiping his hands on a tea towel, unsure whether to say more.

Jack blinked, but otherwise showed no reaction. After a beat, he stated, "You dreamt you killed Tosh."

"Yes," Ianto replied. "I think -- I wanted to kill Gwen, too. I didn't, and you all, you all turned away from me." That memory was still powerful. He had been reminded once again of how much of his life revolved around Torchwood. Being without the support of his friends and co-workers -- of  Jack -- was unimaginable. He shook it off, continuing, "Then Owen shot me."

"Strange," was all Jack said thoughtfully.

Ianto shrugged, suppressing a shiver. "I don't understand it," he confessed. "I mean I've never -- wanted -- thought about killing anyone." That wasn't true, and when he looked at Jack, he knew Jack knew it. It didn't matter, not now in any case.

"In this line of work… maybe you picked something up, some residual energy," Jack suggested.

It sounded like conjecture to Ianto's ears, a mere guess, but he usually deferred to Jack. He nodded, thinking. "Maybe," he answered. "Whatever it was, I could live without it."

Jack pushed off from the desk he'd been leaning against and came over. "Are you done with the coffee machine yet?"

"Yep," Ianto replied. "Should I make you a cup?"

Jack nodded eagerly. "Yes please."

Ianto set to work, shaking the last remnants of the strange dream from his mind.


	7. Epilogue

It was the sound he heard between waking and sleeping, the sound he heard in his dreams, when his focus slipped, or simply when he turned around too quickly.

It was that sound, and it was here.

He was sure he was not asleep this time. It was here, coming towards them, and there was nothing Owen and Gwen, who were with him, could do to stop them. He froze in place, unable to believe the sound he was hearing, but hearing it nonetheless.

He turned to Gwen and then to Owen, looking frantically at both. Gwen put her hand on her gun when she saw his eyes; Owen still looked fairly relaxed. Ianto couldn't believe either of them were so calm. "They're here," he said, unable to keep the emotion from his voice. "We have to run."

"Ianto, mate, what're you talking about?" Owen said, looking at him like he'd just gone mad.

"Ianto?" Gwen added, a frown of concern on her face.

Ianto started backing up, not pulling his gun because he knew not to make any threatening moves, trying to remember who had the car keys. "We have to _go_," he insisted, trying not to lose his calm. "_Now_."

Gwen gave him a small, reassuring smile. "It's all right, Ianto, everything is okay." She spoke slowly, as if trying to placate him.

None of that made sense, they were in danger, they had to run, and he was the only one with the experience to try and save all of them. Owen took a step towards him, reaching out to take his wrist. Ianto jerked away, saying, "I haven't gone mad."

Gwen frowned, holding up her hands as if in defence, and Ianto could only think that the footsteps were coming closer, that sound, that sound that he would always hear. It came closer, while his two colleagues were still staring at him like he'd just announced they were going to die, which in theory he had. It came closer, and around the corner came a battalion of soldiers.

_Soldiers_.

British soldiers, from the British Army, in uniform, their regimental flags proudly displayed on their sleeves. Ianto stared, blinked, and let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He wavered slightly in place, and Gwen said tentatively, "Maybe you should sit down."

He concurred, feeling his knees buckle, and was grateful for Owen's support, because at that moment it wasn't embarrassing to have to be held upright by Owen. Between the two of them, they led him to the SUV, and he sat down in the backseat, dangling his legs out the side, and gratefully drinking from the bottle of water Gwen retrieved from the boot.

"I'm sorry," he managed.

Owen reached for his wrist again, taking his pulse, and this time Ianto didn't stop him. He still felt weak from the shock, and the sound hadn't stopped ringing in his ears. Gwen said quietly, "What happened, Ianto?"

He shook his head, not wanting to burden any of his colleagues with what he'd seen and heard. Owen was giving him a look, and abruptly Ianto realised Owen had figured out what had just happened. He remembered then, the first time he'd seen Owen, just after Canary Wharf, one of the two people from Torchwood Three who'd come to retrieve the technology that, as Jack put it, couldn't fall into the wrong hands. Owen let go of his wrist, and said, "You'll live, but take it easy, okay?" There was some concern in his voice, the only sign that he cared, but with Owen it meant he was taking something seriously.

Ianto nodded, saying, "I'll be all right."

"I better drive," Gwen said, and held out her hand.

Ianto realised he had the keys to the SUV, and dug in his pocket, handing them to her. She went around to the driver's side, and Owen hopped in on the passenger side. Ianto closed the door and buckled his seatbelt, leaning his head back against the seat and willing the sound to stop replaying in his ears.

\--

That night, after they'd had sex, as Jack was kissing his neck and Ianto was trying to recover from what had just happened, Jack said lightly, somewhere near his ear, "Good?"

The tone of his voice was smug, as if he knew what the answer was, and if Ianto could catch his breath, he would've told him. After a moment, he nodded, and gulped in some more air to finally answer, "You know it was."

"Good," Jack said again, sounding thoroughly satisfied, licking a spot on Ianto's neck where he'd gotten carried away earlier, and Ianto knew a bruise would form overnight. For now, he rested his head on Jack's shoulder, trying to recover his equilibrium, and his breathing. Jack's arms were still holding him tightly, making sure he wouldn't slide onto the floor, which had happened once in the past. Jack laughed softly, Ianto feeling it where their bodies were touching, and hearing it near his ear. Nothing was better than this.

After a full five minutes, he finally felt able to stand on his own, and moved back slightly to be able to kiss Jack's mouth. Jack responded with his usual eagerness, and Ianto lost himself in that kiss blissfully for a moment, before remembering what he had to do. They came apart slowly, naturally, and Jack smiled lazily.

Ianto looked around, locating his clothes strewn around Jack's office, and reached for his boxers, pulling them on. Jack raised an eyebrow, saying, "You're not normally a prude, Ianto."

Ianto pulled on his pants, and reached for his shirt, replying, "I'm not. I'm going home."

The surprise showed clearly on Jack's face, and he said, "You know, you don't have to. "

"I know," Ianto said quickly. He sent Jack a reassuring smile, adding, "There are things I have to do at my flat."

"Okay," Jack said slowly, looking slightly hurt, or maybe that was Ianto's imagination. Maybe he just wanted to think Jack wanted him around that much.

"I'll see you in the morning," he told Jack, giving him another smile. He tied his shoelaces, and picked up his jacket.

"Okay," Jack said again.

Ianto looked at him one more time, before leaving the office, going down the stairs and exiting the hub.

\--

When he got home, he changed into comfortable sweats, and prepared to settle in for the night. He brewed a large pot of coffee, extra strength, and retrieved the comforter from where he'd put it back in the closet after the last time he'd used it. He sorted through his stack of DVDs and pulled out 'Rear Window' and 'Lawrence of Arabia', adding reluctantly the 'Die Hard: Quadrilogy' box that Owen had lent him a while ago, insisting the films were really good. The most Ianto could imagine using them for was comic relief, but it would do tonight, he needed the distraction. He needed to stay awake. After the events of the day, a nightmare was an inevitability, and he hadn't wanted to have it in Jack's bed. While some nightmares were soothed by Jack's presence, this was one he knew wouldn't be, and this was also one that he did not want to have to talk about with Jack, ever. What had happened at Canary Wharf not only stood between them because of what had happened afterward with Lisa, but also because he never wanted to discuss it again. He wanted to forget it ever happened. Too much death, too much violence, too many things that he didn't want to remember, images he no longer wanted to have in his mind, though they were seared in there anyway.

The coffee was finished, and he took the pot and a mug to the sofa, wrapped himself in the comforter, pressed the play button on the DVD remote and put his hands around the mug. 'Rear Window' started up, and he settled in for a long vigil.

\--

It was past one in the morning, when his doorbell rang. Ianto started, pausing the DVD player and setting his mug of coffee down on the table. He got up and went to answer. Jack was on the other side, leaning casually against the door frame as if it was perfectly normal for him to show up at this hour of the night. Ianto raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.

"I saw your light was on," Jack said casually.

Ianto wondered if this was a booty call, and if it was, what to do with it. Jack had never been to his flat in the past, and it made no sense for him to suddenly be here now. He stepped aside automatically to let Jack in, then replied, "Yes."

Jack looked from him and his sweats, to the sofa, the comforter, the pot of coffee and the film frozen on the TV screen. "What are you doing, Ianto?"

Ianto looked into Jack's eyes and for some reason couldn't lie. He held Jack's gaze as he answered. "I'm staying up."

"So when you said you had things to do...?" Jack left the words hanging in the air.

"I lied," Ianto admitted, blushing slightly. "I'm sorry."

Jack frowned, saying, his voice soft with concern, "What's going on, Ianto?"

Ianto didn't want to answer, didn't want to go where that conversation would lead, and instead went on the offensive. "What are you doing here, Jack?"

"I was working," Jack replied, his voice tinged with irritation. "I was reading Owen and Gwen's reports about when you went to retrieve that artefact this afternoon. They both noted that something happened."

"It's not important," Ianto replied. "It doesn't interfere with my duties."

"It did then," Jack shot back.

Ianto clenched and unclenched his fists, struggling not to raise his voice. "It won't happen again, Jack. Now is that all you wanted to know?"

It was as if Jack saw right through him, when he softly said, "What's going on with you, Ianto?"

Right at that moment, Ianto didn't want Jack's concern. He couldn't handle it, couldn't deal with the rush of emotions that would overwhelm him if he allowed himself to feel them. The way to deal with Canary Wharf was to ignore it, to go on, and only if he was reminded of it, to then work at suppressing the emotions that came with it. "I'm fine," he insisted, looking away from Jack's eyes because he couldn't bear the compassion in them.

Jack grabbed his arms, shaking him slightly. "Damn it, Ianto. Stop doing this."

Abruptly, Ianto kissed him hard, and Jack responded automatically. They struggled for dominance, no gentleness or softness in the kiss. It was Ianto who pulled away, stepping back from Jack, who let him go. "I think you should leave," he said in a shaking voice.

"Ianto," Jack started, hands dropping to his sides, "I'll go, but tell me you'll be okay."

Ianto thought of the struggle to stay awake that would follow in the next six hours, the thought of falling asleep and dreaming too overwhelming, but he looked from the comforter and the coffee mug to Jack, and said, "Don't worry about me, Jack."

Jack seemed to fight to stay still in place; his whole body tense, he said, "Let me help you."

They were both silent, looking at each other, neither looking away until Ianto finally confessed, "It's Canary Wharf."

Jack blinked. "You're having nightmares?"

Ianto shook his head. "Not always. But this afternoon, when I froze up, it was because -- something reminded me."

"So you're staying up to avoid a nightmare?"

"Yep." Ianto shrugged, trying to convey he wasn't new to this, he could handle this. "It usually doesn't take more than one night."

"You should have told me," Jack said reproachfully. "You could have stayed at the hub, I would have stayed up with you."

Ianto looked at Jack and realised Jack knew a thing or two about nightmares, and wouldn't criticise him for his ways of dealing with them. "I know," he said softly. "But I wanted to forget."

"Let me stay," Jack insisted.

It sounded too good to be true -- it probably was -- but Ianto didn't have the heart to refuse. The offer of company was too tempting, especially the present company. He trusted Jack implicitly.

He went to the sofa, settling back into the comforter, and Jack joined him without saying another word. Ianto pressed the play button on the TV remote, as Jack said, "So what are we watching?"

"Nothing you'd like," Ianto replied.

Jack glanced at the screen. "Laurence of Arabia," he said knowledgeably. "Seen that in the theatre when it came out."

Ianto snorted. "Of course you did."

Jack grinned. "What else have you got?"

Without a word, Ianto pointed at the _Die Hard _box. Jack laughed. "Owen's?"

Ianto nodded. "Can't imagine they're any good. Unless you've see those when they came out too?"

Jack shook his head, showing a measure of distaste on his face. "No. But they might be funnier at two in the morning."

Ianto smiled, turned off _Lawrence of Arabia_, and opened the box to start the first _Die Hard _film. Jack stretched out on the sofa, kicking off his boots, and patted the space in front of him. "Care to get comfortable?"

Ianto smiled slightly, returning with the DVD remote in hand. He settled down in front of Jack, resting his head on Jack's chest, and feeling Jack's arm come around his waist. If you had to stay up all night, this was surely the most comfortable way to do it.

\--

_finis._


End file.
